


and you had best believe that you cannot build what i don't need

by orphan_account



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: M/M, dany and carlos' great italian romance 2k16, sappy crack really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-15
Updated: 2016-09-15
Packaged: 2018-08-15 04:52:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8043256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Franz attempts to resist the urge to smack his head off the table as Carlos appears around the door. Jesus fucking christ he had managed to separate them for four minutes, this is getting fucking intolerable.He’d thought, after the drama of the start of this year, that having drivers who could at least be cordial with each other would be just marvellous. Having two that actively got along with each other enough to work together, especially under the circumstances, was wonderful. And then there was having drivers who knew each other in the biblical sense and it turned out that was an entirely fresh sort of hell.





	and you had best believe that you cannot build what i don't need

**Author's Note:**

  * For [montecarlos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/montecarlos/gifts).



> This was meant to be a super quick gift to my lovely wife because she was sad and then I faffed around with it for literally weeks so here we are. Title from Leave A Trace by CHVRCHES.

Franz attempts to resist the urge to smack his head off the table as Carlos appears around the door. Jesus fucking  _ christ  _ he had managed to separate them for four minutes, this is getting fucking intolerable.

He’d thought, after the drama of the start of this year, that having drivers who could at least be cordial with each other would be just marvellous. Having two that actively got along with each other enough to work together, especially under the circumstances, was  _ wonderful.  _ And then there was having drivers who knew each other in the biblical sense and it turned out that was an entirely fresh sort of hell.

“We’re doing Dany’s interview, Carlos,” he tries, wearily, as the Spaniard sinks into his teammate’s lap, giggling. 

“What do you remember about Monza?” Daniil is gazing, lovestruck, at Carlos. Franz had really just been hoping for a quiet life and in some ways, this really is - they never fight, on or off-track, they never argue, they never cause problems for the team, they’re just  _ always fucking.  _ It’s… unnerving.

He’d vaguely thought that might be the cause of the previous trouble - everyone knows fraternisation goes on and with one, essentially, teenager and one actually teenager he’d been braced for pubescent overspill and subsequent hypermasculinised fights about it. 

But this is more like that old married couple who won’t keep their fucking hands off each other now the kids have left home. He can’t believe he didn’t  _ realise  _ before, that Christian couldn’t have fucking warned him given they’ve clearly been pawing each other since way down the junior leagues.

He realises his head is on the table. Not that either of them is likely to notice, given they’ll be staring at each other, if not actually kissing. He’s never seen a set so bloody shameless about it - they don’t seem to give a shit that they’re in motorsport, as soon as a camera isn’t pointing at them 

He peeks up through his fingers at them, fully in the knowledge they won’t even see their team boss’ visually manifest pain. Carlos is counting out the number of categories they’ve been teammates in, punctuated by kisses, before finishing with “And now Formula 1,” grabbing Daniil’s jaw and ...Franz hates this word but the only way to describe it is  _ snogging  _ him deeply.

He clears his throat, loud enough to finally interrupt them, “Just use the quote, I am going to a meeting.”

He’s going to find Christian and kill him. Slowly.

\-------

Carlos lets his shoulders hit the back of the cupboard, trusts Dany not to thump him off it - Dany’s never been anything but gentle with him, even when they were ganglingly awkward teenagers. 

He groans as Dany pulls open his belt and flies, whines to encourage him - it’s too dark for Dany to see him in the… ok, he thinks it might be a cleaning cupboard but also he’s  _ reasonably  _ confident the team isn’t going to interrupt them. Either way, Dany likes being appreciated and Carlos knows he can’t see him biting his lip, tipping his head back or even the hand that  _ nearly  _ fists into Dany’s hair as he sinks his mouth over Carlos’ cock.

He doesn’t know if it’s being in Italy, where normally there’s really only them and the team or if it’s the horrible awareness that they probably don’t have much time left with this much opportunity together or the end of the summer heat or  _ what  _ but they can’t keep their hands off each other, this weekend. Carlos had weakly suggested they shouldn’t fuck until after the race, earlier in the week and about 45 minutes later found himself begging Dany to get his dick in him already, panting against the door to the balcony. 

Just the memory makes him moan, thrust slightly into Dany’s mouth, just to show him how much he appreciates him, not to choke him. They’re so familiar with each other now, moreso ever since they spend every friggin’ minute together in the factory and Carlos can’t bear about thinking that’s going to change again, not after it’s almost seemed like it’s not a thing this week. Since coming to Italy gave him a bittersweet taste of what he wants with Dany, both of them successful and happy and celebrated by the team.

Carlos tips his head back and swallows, not thinking about it now. Not when Dany’s expertly, lovingly sucking his dick, pulling a whine out of Carlos as the flat of Dany’s tongue presses against the underside of the head of his cock. Fuck, he’s going to come fast - which is probably for the best, given where they are but also the sensory deprivation of nothing but noise and touch and urgent want is driving Carlos mad.

He can feel Dany smiling against his cock, as he pulls back to kiss along the shaft, before taking the whole thing into his mouth quickly, making Carlos hiss as Dany’s nose presses against his pubes. It’s hot and wet and perfect as he fumbles for Dany in the darkness, stroking the hollow of his cheek, feeling the vibrations of Dany humming contently around his dick -  _ fuck,  _ why is that always so good?

Carlos would quite happily tell anyone that, contrary to the rumours about him and Mitch, he’s never been attracted to another man in his life. He’d be fairly happy not fancying anyone other than Dany full stop but he’s on Instagram and not immune to bikini-clad holiday pictures of the sort of girl who hangs around Monaco. 

But then there’s the  _ thing  _ him and his teammate have always had, where it just feels so  _ good  _ to be in close physical proximity to each other, even better to touch, even better than that to merge themselves together, press into each other. It’s like there was a mistake in their making, one being somehow split in two that only makes sense when they’re together. 

Which is all far too elegant for their stumbling, dorky romance, nursed awkwardly through puberty and into their twenties, coordinated only with each other. From their first kiss in the Arden motorhome, play fighting turned into something with a different heat, to Dany’s hands on Carlos’ hips, mouth on his dick in this cupboard, it’s always just been  _ good  _ between them. 

And fucking hell, Dany is good at this. Carlos whines quietly, threads his fingers through Dany’s hair and fucks his mouth gently a few times, unable to resist. Carlos is going to fuck him properly later, press Dany against heavy cotton sheets and make him fall apart, Carlos’ tongue in his mouth when they’re both coming -  _ fuck. _

“Daniil,” he tries to whisper but it comes out weird, almost growly, pretty sure he’s speaking Spanish. “Dany I’m going to-” 

He doesn’t even get to finish his sentence, choking a moan and feeling his hips jerk as Dany refuses to pull back, deep-throating him as Carlos tries not to hit his own head off the back of the cupboard too hard. How does it get  _ better _ so often? How good are his orgasms going to get? Holy  _ shit _ . He’s trembling a little bit, panting, Dany still gently licking at his cock to draw the last aftershocks out.

He drags Dany off his knees, up to lean against and over him. They spend a long moment cuddling and kissing, Dany’s mouth full of the taste of his spunk and  _ christ  _ it’s enough to nearly make him ready to go again, so close and perfectly melded together. Carlos’ hands are underneath Dany’s shirt, playing at the waistband of his boxers, their bodies pressed together so he can feel their heartbeats echoing each other, quiet and close, enveloped by each other and the gloom.

“They will be looking for us already,” Carlos can’t keep the ruefulness out of his voice - racing aside he’d be quite happy if his career primarily involved getting tenderly kissed by his teammate. 

He can  _ hear  _ Dany’s smirk, “I’m pretty sure they know where we are.”

Carlos grabs at his crotch, groping in the darkness, “Well, I make us equal?”

\-------

Franz is becoming desperate. He’d called in what he thinks of as ‘heavy support,” been told he couldn’t have both Red Bull drivers because one of them might get killed by the mafia  _ as though that was Franz’ problem  _ (anymore, thank fuck - no need to add to his woes) and yet nothing was working.

At least Daniel is as frustrated by the whole thing as he is. He’d always liked Ricciardo, shame they couldn’t have just kept him and Jean-Eric, such a peaceful time. Even if they  _ were  _ fucking they’d done it in secret.

Instead Franz finds himself trying to hope that his drivers can stop holding hands long enough to conduct an interview, even if they do keep gazing at each other  _ like that.  _ They’re never normally this bad, he’s sure - they’re awful, completely but this is next level, right at the point where they actually  _ need  _ them to be presentable.

It had slightly escalated in Belgium, for reasons he couldn’t really work out but thought was maybe just missing each other over the summer break. There’d been a moment in the motorhome where Alonso, of all people, had appeared out of nowhere to tell Franz how happy he was for Carlos. Which was the wrong thing to say to Franz, who had ejected him from the catering with considerable prejudice.

He makes a conscious decision to sit up and get his head out of his hands. This is not a good look in front of sponsors. Maybe everyone will just think that his drivers are very, very passionate about the team. Really engaged with sponsors, totally enthusiastic about the products. That’s why they’re smiling so much and sitting slightly leaning against each other, backs of their hands touching in the hair’s breadth between their thighs. 

Franz supposes it’s nice. He might have just ended up with a continuously suicidal Daniil, had the swap gone any other way and it’s certainly brought Carlos out of the stroppy sulk he’d been in for most of last year and the start of this one. And who knows, maybe they’ll be hailed as radical for being the first team to have their drivers throw each other down on the floor of a tram, tear each other’s clothes off and fuck?

Daniel meets his eye with a look of incredible confusion and desperation and mouths “What is going on?”

Franz shakes his head because he has no idea either, although possibly more than Daniel. Oh god - what if Ricciardo and Kvyat used to be together? What if that skinny Russian is a dark horse fucking his way round the entire grid? Franz would, frankly, believe anything at this point.

At least it’s making them charming - Daniil turning into quite a spectacularly competent flirt with the reporters, Carlos disarmingly giggly enough to cover for his usual verbal diarrhea. The Italian media is eating up their language skills and maybe their closeness looks more like ...ok no, Carlos is actually curled over, laughing as he rests his head in Daniil’s lap, there’s absolutely nothing that looks like apart from what it is. 

Daniel coughs awkwardly, kicks Daniil in the leg - Franz supposes he probably should have briefed his former driver about the whole… fucking situation. Daniil and Carlos fix Ricciardo with perfectly synchronised, dreamily cheery bemused expressions, which Daniel looks almost distressed by, flicking Dany in the arm and vaguely gesturing towards the cameras. 

Franz’ drivers roundly ignore him, choosing to go back to laughing together again. Carlos reaches a hand up to stroke Dany’s neck as the Russian wraps an arm over his chest and they carry on chatting to the press as though they don’t look like they’re on a Harpers Bazaar wedding photoshoot. It’s the most ridiculous fucking thing Franz has ever seen. 

Daniel - and Franz has to admit this is definitely his fault for not issuing clearer instructions - clearly decides that this must be what they’re meant to be doing and shuffles close to the other side of Daniil, gives him a deeply uncertain look that’s actually returned by his ex-teammate but doesn’t stop Daniel wrapping himself around the Russian, head awkwardly on Danill’s shoulder.

It’s absurd - they look like a strange family portrait or a pop group, Daniil looking briefly alarmed, then moderately uncomfortable, then settling into the situation when Carlos takes his hand off his teammate’s neck and laces their fingers together on his chest, smiling up at Daniil while the Russian fields Awkward Question #254 Of The Day.

It is at least reasonably satisfying watching Daniel get increasingly awkward, clearly trying to lean on Daniil less and less as the conversation inevitably turns to The Swap, the Red Bull driver looking more uncomfortable by the second. Carlos is winding ever further into his teammate’s lap, getting more and more animated in his answers until he’s essentially leaning across Daniil’s lap, hauling himself further in by their joined hands.

Which is when Franz spots the ring on Carlos’ finger and he has to go outside for seventeen minutes and twenty three seconds of trying to work out if he can  _ actually  _ fire the entire press team before their home Grand Prix.

\--------

Carlos’ hair has got ridiculous, Dany decides. He doesn’t want him to cut it -  _ god,  _ no - but it is now ridiculous. He’s always liked touching Carlos, even before they’d worked out  _ why  _ or what they wanted, which was a completely terrifying time only offset by how incredibly good threading his fingers through Carlos’ hair felt.

He’s got one hand in the soft, dark mop right now, scrabbling slightly, trying to tug him away from Dany’s dick before he makes him come. Carlos has been licking and teasing at him for what feels like an age and Dany’s more than ready for him to get the fuck on with it.

“You said you were going to fuck me, Chili,” he knows he sounds whiny but it’s the breathy, turned-on sort you wouldn’t get down team radio. He has been with other people, although not for a little while and Carlos brings something else out in him, something uninhibited and comfortable. Dany can’t imagine ever asking anyone else not to make him come before they fuck him - he can barely get through asking people to make him coffee without a degree of panic, these days.

Carlos looks up at him through some stray wisps of hair that have evaded Dany’s grip, half-laughing as he pulls his mouth back, “I am,” his teammate pauses to kiss his dick lightly, affectionately, “Going to fuck you, that is.”

Dany  _ almost  _ laughs - because everyone assumes he’s the awkward one, that Carlos is bubbly and articulate and well-media-trained. Which he is, until he starts talking about meerkats or falters over a sentence and descends into babble. Dany turns his hand in Carlos’ hair into something more affectionate than urgent, trying to coax him up to lie over his chest, the way they’ve evolved to as they’ve gone from skinny teenagers to skinny adults to actually-slightly-ripped adults, lately.

“I’d like you to,” he lets go of Carlos’ hair as his teammate crawls upwards, going in for a slow kiss. Carlos is wearing a necklace that tickles against Dany’s neck, some small chain and charm that’s tracing lightly over his skin, warm from Carlos’ bodyheat. 

“Do you think they’ve noticed?” Dany can feel the hand Carlos has against his chest fiddling with the ring, like he can’t stop touching it to check it’s real, still. Dany shakes his head, dragging his teammate in for another kiss - not that teammate seems  _ quite  _ the right word, since they’ve decided to take it this far.

He realises he’s holding his breath - he actually can’t believe they  _ have  _ gone there, from this nameless thing they’ve had for so long; carefully, consciously never boyfriends and now… it still doesn’t feel like it needs a word for it, it’s just moreso than before. He hadn’t asked anything specific, just got down on one knee, offered Carlos the ring and said ‘please,’ watched his teammate go through confused-overwhelmed-joy in less than a second before he’d pulled him to his feet to kiss him.

He guesses they ought to talk about it some time - what he actually meant and what Carlos wants. They’re too young, things are too complicated but he could feel the pull of wanting  _ something  _ between them, of everything coming to a peak. 

“I don’t care if they see it.” Carlos is looking at him very intensely while he’s talking, “I like it.”

Carlos is king of being able to work out the politics of motorsport - he takes to it like he’s a natural, like he’s a matador that’s finally going to break this particular bull; Dany envies it desperately. But Carlos also frequently gets incredibly stubborn ideas in his head and refuses to budge a passionate inch on them and this is clearly one of them. 

Well, they’re both prone to it - he never would’ve ended up kneeling in front of him otherwise. He pulls Carlos down to kiss slowly, tongues deep in each other’s mouths, hands gripping onto each other fiercely, bucking his hips up as Carlos grinds down. 

“For fuck’s sake, dude,” the Spaniard looks delighted by Dany’s whining tone, fully knowing he’s teasing and totally wrapped up in it, eyes soft and blown and full of affection, “Come on, fuck me.”

Carlos looks a little choked, in a good way, “Ask me nicely, we’ve got forever.”

Dany hears himself gasp, genuinely shocked - not least by the jolt of warmth that goes straight to his dick as his hand goes almost involuntarily into Carlos’ hair, dragging him into a fierce kiss until they’re both breathless. 

“Scopami ti, prego,” he figures putting it in Italian is kind of ‘nicely’ and he can’t really breathe enough to come out with anything elaborate. It seems to work, Carlos growling against his mouth, grinding down a few last times before he rolls off Dany. 

Carlos hops off the bed for a second, returning after a second’s drawer-rummaging - not like they don’t keep the stuff to hand - and then surprises Dany by pressing the tube into his hand, “Do it yourself - I want to watch.”

The way Carlos says it, slightly rushed and definitely still breathless, stroking Dany’s arm almost nervously, says he’s been fantasising about it for ages. It’s not like Dany’s never done it before, even when they’ve been together, it’s just that usually it’s been because he’s sucking Carlos’ dick or something suitably distracting at the same time. But he’s not going to fucking deny Carlos something that’s making him pant at the thought, slightly flushed already.

Dany closes his eyes, tries not to let self-consciousness in as he draws one knee up and spreads his legs, uncapping the lube and blindly pumping a fairly generous amount over the fingers of his right hand. It’s an awkward stretch and he’s temporarily grateful to be slightly oddly proportioned so he can actually reach, even on his back.

He tries not to think about the fact Carlos is watching, pretend he’s alone. Which is difficult with his teammate making soft noises of want and stroking his leg, encouraging him as Dany pushes a finger into himself and hisses at the breach. 

He wills himself to relax - they do this all the time for god’s sake. They’re about even in the topping stakes, maybe slightly in his favour because Carlos really does love getting fucked after a race but it’s definitely not a rarity for him to be the one getting it. 

Dany feels a breath and the trace of Carlos’ necklace over his stomach, pressing a few kisses along his hipbone and the momentary distraction is enough to calm him down, relax into it. It’s not like fingering himself doesn’t feel good or that he hasn’t done it plenty, when they’ve been apart. That first year in F1 was terrible - especially when Jean-Eric and Dan had been blatantly loved up - for taking himself off to his room for some seriously intense wanking every time GP3 didn’t share the same schedule. 

He adds a second finger, feels the stretch and  _ whines,  _ thinking about how good it always feels when Carlos is inside him. He’d insisted it was this way round the first time they’d full-on fucked, partly because he’d felt a bit guilty that he’d been with a girl before but mostly because he couldn’t bear the thought of hurting Carlos, needed to know it was ok before he did it to him. 

It was a lot better than ok - maybe not that first time, which had all been a bit clumsy and Carlos had come way too fast for Dany to have much of an impression other than that there was  _ something  _ pretty good to it. But they’d got the hang of it eventually, finessing some seriously athletic lovemaking sessions, putting all that training to good use. 

He feels Carlos hand touch his, between his legs and jumps slightly, giving himself a reasonably unpleasant jolt before he gets a grip and tries to relax again, Carlos’ fingers playing over his own. 

“You’re so hot,” Dany’s dick twitches against his stomach - not really at Carlos’ words but at the reverent way he’s touching him, the breathy tremble in his voice. “Can I?”

Dany half wants to ask what, exactly, just for logistics purposes but his body’s nodding before his brain’s caught up, then Carlos is pushing a finger into him alongside his own and he hears himself make a very choked noise, overwhelmed. 

He opens his eyes to look at Carlos, who’s gazing at him intensely, his free hand on his own dick, “Fuck, Dany.” He sounds like he’s burning with need - the way Dany’s body feels too hot, like a fever, heating up from the inside with want and what he feels about Carlos.

He pulls his own fingers out, tosses the lube to Carlos, “Need you, Chili”

Carlos dives towards the bedside table for a condom, forcing Dany into a fairly difficult maneuver to stop him with his leg, “No - just you.”

Carlos looks shocked, then like he’s going to argue, then so turned on he might come there and then, a blush rising on his cheekbones, which is enormously satisfying. Dany wasn’t going to do it but Carlos had asked for what he wanted earlier and it had made him bold enough for it. 

“You’re sure?” Carlos moves over him, settling on his knees between Dany’s legs, bending forwards to kiss him gently, not pushing in yet. 

“Yeah. You said ‘forever,’ right?” He feels a thrill of nerves go over his chest - this is boundary-pushing, putting them right out of the deep comfort they have with each other but it feels good.

“God, yes” Carlos presses against him, whines against his neck, “I want this”

Dany nearly flicks him and says of course he fucking does, he can feel his dick but he knows that isn’t what Carlos means, that there’s the bigger thing-that-is-them in his words. It makes him swallow, feeling totally flooded with complex emotions, the swirl of joy and love and want that is what he feels for Carlos and the mud-dark spiralling fears he has for the future and how to reconcile the two.

Carlos makes a choked noise, pushing into him as they kiss. It feels very slightly different to Dany, the lack of smoothing barrier meaning he can feel more of the contour of Carlos’ dick but it must be completely new for Carlos. He assumes, anyway - they’ll have to talk about whether Carlos is willing to reciprocate later.

His teammate is panting against his neck, whining slightly, “Fuck. I can’t believe you’re going to let me come in you,” his own words make him moan and Dany wonders if he’s actually going to thrust at all or if he’s just going to watch Carlos fight not to come until he’s overwhelmed.

Dany clenches his body around Carlos’ dick, to try to give him the idea because he had actually been looking forward to an enthusiastic fucking but also he can sort himself out, if Carlos is that close to the edge. He wraps a hand around his own dick, getting off on feeling how tense Carlos is, how he’s vibrating with want and something else, his hand in the hair at the nape of Dany’s neck, scrabbling for purchase. 

Carlos finally moves, pushing into him and it’s so urgent it feels ridiculously good, so sensitised by waiting that Carlos feels bigger inside him than usual, ever thrust setting nerve-endings on fire. Carlos is whining and moaning continually, his head still tucked against Dany’s neck, kissing his skin, mouth hot and open.

“Carlos -  _ fuck”  _ Carlos bit down on his neck suddenly and a second later, Dany could  _ feel  _ why as his teammate falls apart into him, shaking against him as Dany frantically wanks himself off over the feeling of Carlos completely losing control, onto and inside him. 

Once the sweat and stickiness is starting to uncomfortably dry onto them, Carlos pushes himself off Dany’s chest slightly, looks him in the face as he wriggles to pull out, “Oh my god. Ok, I’m getting you a ring too.”

Dany pulls him back to his chest, holding him closely, as though Carlos is the one that just let Dany come in him instead of vice versa but the Spaniard looks so totally overwhelmed. They’re going to be ok, somehow.

\--------

On the plane to Singapore Franz finds himself fondly gazing at the two drivers sleeping on each other, Carlos’ head against Daniil’s chest. They’ve both got rings, now - apparently made from bits of melted-down titanium from the cars, which he finds himself thinking is genuinely sweet. 

They’d come to him last week, told him they had no intention of hiding it any longer and as annoying as he finds the pair of them, he’d had to admire it. Especially Daniil, explaining he knew what it meant - that this would make things worse for him on any number of levels. 

He thinks they’ve told the other drivers, maybe the wider Red Bull team - he’s not interested in gossiping about them himself, people can find out when they find out. Once he’d got over being apopleptic at the pair of them he’d decided they just had to make it work to the team’s advantage, the same as anything else.


End file.
